Like Pieces Falling Into Place
by ginnygirl87
Summary: Life hadn't turned out how it was supposed to...and yet it turned out just fine. Post Season 3 Episode 3


Chapter 1: Did You Miss Me?

The first thing that happened when Sherlock stepped off the plane was a breathless hug from John. It took him by surprise. "I'm sorry," John had muttered awkwardly. "I meant to do that before you left…I just…the shock of it…" he shook his head. He stepped back before Sherlock could respond in kind, and Mycroft began briefing him on the situation. He knew that none of them had seen the evidence of tears he had had on his face from his departure. Thinking of all he hadn't said to John and the fact that he might never see him again had caused the reaction. He'd wiped them off hastily when the call from his brother had come.

"I don't think its Moriarty," Sherlock responded to his brother's inquiries. "I saw him shoot himself in the head. I think it's one of his henchmen."

Life moved swiftly on. Sherlock moved back into Baker Street, at least for the time being. He kept himself busy with the search for 'Moriarty', trying not to think of John. It was hard, however, when he kept looking at his empty chair. He frowned at it as he sat in his own. He was going to have to move it again. He couldn't stand to see it empty when it should be filled with John. It wasn't as if he hadn't known that this was going to happen, that he would be alone after the wedding. Sure, John came around now and again to see him, but it wasn't the same. Sherlock stopped playing violin at three in the morning because no one was there to comfort after they'd had a nightmare or to annoy just for the heck of it. He pulled out his needles occasionally when things became too much, seeking relief in the drugs. They helped, but they didn't make John come back home.

It was during one of his highs that Sherlock grabbed John's chair and dragged it upstairs to John's room. He scowled at it. It scowled back. He flopped down on John's bed. John. When had his whole world started to revolve around the man? He wasn't sure exactly when nothing else had begun to matter, but it was true-John was his whole world now. He'd faked his death for him. He'd gone through the torture of being his best man, watching him get married to someone else. He'd been shot by said person and had come back to life to ensure John's safety. And then, when it was certain that John had still chosen her, Sherlock had killed a man to ensure that his life with her was a happy one, with no threatening Magnussen in their way. Sherlock flopped over on his stomach, taking a deep breath as he did so. A new wave of longing hit him, as the smell of John, which lingered in the sheets even now, hit his nose. God but he was a fool. Mycroft had said it, and it was certainly true, wasn't it? Caring was most certainly not an advantage.

When Sherlock did discover who was behind the Moriarty message, it was unceremonious. Tom, Molly's ex, had turned out to be a tech guru, sniper, and employee of Moriarty. He had been the one to target John during the fall- Sherlock had _thought_ he'd recognized him. He had used Molly to try to get closer to Sherlock, but had realized that Sherlock was too wrapped up in John and the wedding to ever get to. He wanted to excite people, to reunite the remnants of Moriarty's web, and it had worked, at least somewhat. It wasn't long before Sherlock had them all in custody, however. Needless to say, Molly had to be comforted over the fact that yet another person she had fell for was a psychopath.

It was two days later when Sherlock got the call from John saying that Mary was going into labor.

"Where the hell are you?" John yelled into the phone. "You said you were going to be here!"

"I was not aware that today was the big day," Sherlock replied hazily, having taken drugs only an hour ago. "It's hardly my fault that you didn't tell me it was time."

John merely groaned into the phone. "Alright fine. But get here soon, will you? This wait is going to kill me."

"It'd take more than _that_ to kill you, John," Sherlock replied, but got to his feet. "I'll be there as soon as possible." When he got there, John was pacing the floor. "It's taking _forever_," John complained. "I just wish I had news."

"I'm sure everything is fine," Sherlock replied. He sat down, watching John pace as he felt himself coming down from the high. John started running fingers through his hair. The clock ticked on, and still no word.

And then…

A doctor came out.  
John looked up hopefully.

But hope was the last thing exhibited on the doctor's face as he came to John.

"John Watson?" He nodded. "Come with me, please."

Sherlock watched John go with a strangely bad feeling in his gut.


End file.
